A Light in the Darkness
by AstridHolmes
Summary: This is a story about John and Sherlock after the fall.
1. Chapter 1

(Sherlock has been staying in Molly Hooper's house for the last year that he has been "dead", mostly staying indoors and occasionally helping out Scotland Yard. The only people who know he is alive are Mycroft, Molly, Lestrade and Stupid Anderson.)

CHAPTER 1

Sherlock woke abruptly, sweat streaming down his face. It was still dark outside. He groaned as he rolled over to face Molly's little blue alarm clock. 3:53 it read. Sherlock sighed. He hadn't had a proper night's sleep since the nightmares started. They were dreams of John, tears pouring down his cute little face as he stood in front of the gravestone. Dreams of him back at his therapist, unable to cope with his loss. Dreams of him unable to move on from losing his best friend. He had been trying to see John whenever he could, Walking around Baker Street on the weekend just trying to see if he was there. Once he caught John's eye and he paused and stopped and in that moment Sherlock felt that nothing changed at all. A glint of recognition passed over John's eyes. Then he blinked and the moment was over. John walked away slowly and shook his head as if trying to convince himself that nothing had happened. The moment stayed prevalent in Sherlock's mind and he felt a tidal wave of guilt sweep over his body. Guilt that he could not spend more time with his beloved John.

Sherlock closed his eyes and pushed the thoughts from his mind but they managed to slip back in again through his dreams, tormenting him. There was Moriary's face now, laughing manically and smiling an evil smile, surrounded by fog and great swirling mists. 'I don't have to be alive to cause you pain.' Moriarty cackled and then there was John crying and crying with Moriarty torturing him and an alarm was ringing, piercing through the air, cutting through Sherlock's mind and ripping his soul in two.

Sherlock awoke to find the warm, golden sunlight tingling across his body. He could hear clanging noises from downstairs. 'That's funny,' he thought 'Molly's normally left the house for work by now.' Intrigued, Sherlock slipped on his fluffy rabbit slippers (they had been a present from John a while ago. Sherlock had never really known what to make of them. He thinks John had intended for them to be a joke present, but they were all he had from John now and so he treasured them over everything else (except, of course, the world famous deerstalker.) and put on his favourite silk dressing gown, the purple one. He yawned and stretched out his arms and thought what John was doing right now, as he always did. Sherlock sighed, he felt like the weight of the world was heaped on his shoulders. As he passed the hall mirror he stared in disbelief at the person he had become. His hair was messy and unruly and he hadn't shaved for a week. His lifeless eyes stared at him, at the bones all too visible and the deep, dark bags under his eyes. The only thing he was holding on to was the thought of possibly seeing John again.

He walked in to Molly's kitchen. Everything was as normal. The clean surfaces were gleaming in the morning light and there was breakfast on the table for him. Molly didn't trust him in the kitchen, there had been an incident involving some important medical papers and a frying pan which had resulted in a smouldering mess.

And then Sherlock noticed a note on the table. It was in Molly's handwriting and it was about John.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

On this particular morning, John was frantically getting ready for his big day. Miss Morstan was soon to become Mrs Watson, something John had been looking forward to for over 7 months now. They had met only a few months after the death of Sherlock. It was one day in February, there had been a strong wind blowing and it was pouring down with rain. John had been slowly walking back to Sherlock's grave, which he visited nearly every week, with a large bouquet of pink flowers. John's hands were growing colder and colder and his eyes were forming a thin mist of tears obscuring his vision as he saw the dark silhouette of the grave ahead of him. What little sunlight there was seemed to have drained away around the grave. It was one of the newest in the grave yard, still quite shiny with golden lettering. It was quite a simple grave but John thought simple would have been the way Sherlock wanted it. The funeral had been quite simple too. Only a few guests. Mycroft was there of course though he didn't seem too moved by the situation. He must have a heart of ice, John had thought while he walked to the front of the church to say his reading, not to cry at your own brother's funeral. John had started his speech but he couldn't see what he had written, his eyes had been flooded in tears and his throat had dried up. Once he had swallowed he had begun.

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,  
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,  
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum  
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead  
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.  
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,  
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,  
My working week and my Sunday rest,  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,  
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,  
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;  
For nothing now can ever come to any good." (Funeral Blues W. )

When he had finished he had looked up to see everyone in tears. "That was beautiful." Mrs Hudson had said.

John looked down at the ground and kept walking towards the place where Sherlock lay. He was walking so fast he didn't see the beautiful blonde haired lady in front of him. He crashed into her and they both dropped the flowers they were carrying. Both bouquets were soaked and covered in mud. They were completely ruined. John immediately bent down and picked up all the flowers. The woman was doing the same. He looked up and they held eye contact. She was beautiful, her blue eyes were sparkling and she was smiling a perfect smile. John smiled back and for the first time since the fall felt happy.

"Hi, I'm John." he said.

"Mary, Mary Morstan." she replied. Her voice sounded like that of an angle.

"What is a beautiful young lady like you doing at a graveyard on a day like this?"

There was a moment of silence as Mary's face fell. "I'm here to visit my father. He died when I was still at school. I come here every week to tend to the grave, put down new flowers and stuff. It's for my mother. She can't come here. It causes her too much pain. They were so in love and so close. It broke her heart. She's not been the same since then. It's been such a long time. They thought he committed suicide at the time but I don't think he did. He was so happy, never stopped smiling. I think he was murdered."

"That's the same with Sherlock. The papers say he committed suicide but I think he was murdered too."

"Sherlock Holmes? The Sherlock Holmes?! I thought I recognised you from somewhere. You are, sorry were, his boyfriend."

"If anyone still cares, we weren't actually gay."

"Of course not." Mary's laugh filled the graveyard. John joined in, it was infectious.

"You know, that's the first time I think I've properly laughed since Sherlock's death." John smiled, but it was a genuine one, one he truly meant because he was actually happy, not just a fake one for the papers. "Know, let me buy you some new flowers." John put his arm around Mary's and walked towards the flower shop laughing and talking away to her.

After that they had started going out for coffees all the time. Mary had moved in shortly after. Their love was like nothing John had ever felt before. 'And now,' he thought 'we're going to get married.' Mary had saved John from depression and had brought some light to a time when darkness was shrouding him and his world.

"John!" Mrs Hudson called from downstairs. "It's time." John looked at himself in the mirror one last time. His black shoes we're shining and his hair immaculate. John walked out of 221C (He had moved from 221B, there were two many memories) and into the car waiting for him outside.

"Ready?" Mrs Hudson whispered into his ear.

"Ready." John replied, a massive grin across his face. If only Sherlock could be here to see him now, he thought. Sherlock would have been looking at all the guests and telling him where every single one had come from and their job and how may pets they owned. But he wasn't here and there was nothing that would bring him back.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry that I took a while to update. I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Please review. :)_

CHAPTER 3

Sherlock stared open mouthed in shock at the note in his hands._ John was getting married? Why hadn't Molly told him anything about it?_ He was angry now, pacing up and down the kitchen. _Why hadn't Molly mentioned it to him? He could have made plans so he could be at the wedding_. Sherlock sighed a weary sigh. It seemed that once again he could not be there for John when he needed him most. A tear rolled out of Sherlock's eye. John was getting married. He smiled to himself as he felt warm inside. Then it hit him. Sherlock was more alone than before. Even if he did return to Baker Street it would not be the same. Everything would have changed and it was inevitable that John would not want to live with Sherlock anymore. He would want to live with his new wife somewhere completely different. He might not even want to live in London. The thought of one of Sherlock's few friends becoming more distant scared him. John understood him more than anyone ever did. John was always there for him when he was stuck on a particularly difficult case. Mrs Hudson knew how he worked but even she did not know everything about the way Sherlock worked and was. He thought of going back to an empty 221b and working as a consulting detective all by himself. Now Sherlock's eyes were swimming in tears, and they weren't tears of joy anymore. And who was John marrying. Sherlock didn't even know her name. _She could be anyone. Anyone at all. What if she was stupid like Anderson? That would be awful. What if John wasn't worth her? And worst of all, what if she didn't understand him?_ Sherlock felt betrayed, though, he thought, he had no reason to feel that way at all. He was just being selfish because he wanted John all to himself and he wanted it all to be like it was before. Not that the two of them had ever been in a relationship at all. John had had girlfriends before, not that Sherlock really approved of any of them. Most of them had been quite dull and stupid. Sherlock suppressed the feelings of jealousy deep within him and tried to think about the situation positively.

On the other hand, at least John hadn't been all alone the last few months. The thought of someone there comforting John and helping him through his grief helped Sherlock to feel at ease. Sherlock supposed that he'd been back to the good-for-nothing counsellor. Not that she had ever helped much with anything. Maybe this girl would turn out alright. If John was prepared to marry her she must be nice enough and John has pretty good judgement. _Maybe, if she had the intellect, she could help Sherlock on his cases_; Well, that was when he told the others he was alive.

Sherlock wanted to be at the wedding more than anything, but the consequences of being there could be too great. Firstly, his appearance suddenly at the wedding after being 'dead' for more than a year would certainly shock a few members of the congregation and attract a lot of media attention, something Sherlock had been enjoying not having. Secondly, what if John didn't want Sherlock there. It certainly wouldn't surprise him. Sherlock had way of making public events extremely awkward by deducing all sorts of secrets about the guests. But Sherlock desperately wanted to be there for John. He hadn't been there for a whole year, and he had already missed out on so much. With that though Sherlock rushed upstairs, got dressed and ran out of the door.

"TAXI!" he yelled as a black cab, glistening in the light drizzle that was now falling pulled up on the pavement. He opened the door and got in. "221b Baker Street and as fast as possible." Sherlock hoped he wasn't too late. Hopefully he could catch Mrs Hudson before she left and he could go to the wedding with her. He knew he had a suit there somewhere too.

The taxi driver turned around, chatting away, to look at the stranger who had just got into his taxi. He stopped talking suddenly and a look of recognition and puzzlement passed across his face. Sherlock stared back.

"Do I know you?" The taxi driver spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. "You certainly look familiar. Have I seen you in the paper somewhere?"

Sherlock replied, too quickly. "No, why should you?"

The taxi driver laughed. "I know exactly who you are. You're the great Sherlock Holmes. You committed suicide last year. Except you obviously didn't because here you are sitting in my taxi. Why didn't you say you were alive? The papers were saying all sorts about you. Your friend, the name escape me.."

"John?"

"Yeah, John. He always stood up for you. The papers gave him a lot of trouble for that you know. They said all sorts about him. So maybe you aren't a fake after all. Let's see if you're as good as they say."

"You smoke, that much is evident from your nails. And you haven't had a cigarette this morning because you're shaking slightly. And if you'll just pass me your phone..." Sherlock reached over for it but the taxi driver snatched it away. "And judging by you reaction with your phone, you're quite a secretive man. Have you got stuff on there you don't want me to see?"

"I think that'll be enough now. You are as good as he says." The taxi driver accelerated quickly and didn't say another word.

'Why had the taxi driver said 'he says'. That's a weird way of phrasing it. HE. Not they, but he.' Sherlock thought to himself. 'It seems highly suspicious.' These thoughts kept Sherlock occupied throughout the journey until he arrived at Baker Street. He jumped out of the taxi and knocked on the door.

The taxi driver drove away but he didn't look for another fare. Instead he drove straight to a small house in the southern outskirts of London. He got out of the car, a crooked smile played across his ugly face. He would be pleased. All year he had been looking for Sherlock, looking for a sign of life and now he would have his request and all thanks to little, fat Montague. Montague knocked three times on the big blue door in front of him. A dark shadowy figure approached the door.

"Who is there?" The voice spoke with a distinct Irish accent.

"It is I, Montague." His voice quivered and he trembled in fear. "I bring news of great importance."

"It better be, because why else would you come to this place in the MIDDLE OF THE DAY When EVERYONE CAN SEE US?!" The man inside was angry now. Montague was scared now, great beads of sweat trickled down his plumps face. It took all his remaining strength to say, "The News, sir. It is about Sherlock Holmes."

There was a deafening silence. Then, slowly, the door opened. A hand beckoned Montague inside.

The inside was just as you would expect a normal house, that was, util you left the hall. The two men climbed the staircase and entered a small sark room. The walls were bare and there was a red stain on the wooden floor that looked suspiciously like blood. The man sat himself down in a large leather chair behind a desk. The only light in the room, which was coming from the small window at the opposite end of the room, fell upon the man's face. He had dark hair, which was slicked back, pale skin and looked in his late 30s. Montague stared, this was the first time he had seen his master's face an he was expecting someone who looked much tougher than this.

"Please, do take a seat." Montague sat in an old red chair with suspicious marks all over it. "Do remember, it is rude to stare Montague. Now what do you know. And quickly please. I am a busy man."

"I was in my cab, driving around the areas you told me to collect fares from and then a man bursts out of one of the houses calling for a cab. He looks a bit dishevelled and tired, like he hasn't seen much light and fresh air recently. He gets in and it's him. It's Sherlock Holmes. He even did the deduction stuff you told me about. He wanted to go to Baker Street. I thought you were going to be so proud of me. Your loyal servant who found Sherlock."

"And is this all you found out?" Montague nodded. "Well, I was expecting more seeing as you came to me here in BROAD DAYLIGHT! YOU ARE SO STUPID! You could have been followed, anything. All for that tiny piece of information. I know he is at Baker Street anyway."

"But...sir...I."

"Be quiet." A red spot of light started dancing on Montague's chest. He started crying. "Pathetic man. You have made one too many mistakes Montague. I cannot trust you anymore and so" A bullet hit Montague's chest. His crying stopped suddenly. "And so you must die." Montague's lifeless body lay limp in the chair. The man spun his chair round to face the man in the corner of the room that Montague had failed to notice.

"Once again, Moran, an amazing shot."

"Thank you Moriarty, sir." The two men laughed and smiled at each other. "It's great to have you back"


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The door to 221b Baker Street didn't open the first time. Sherlock knocked once more, faster and louder this time. Once again the door did not open. Sherlock was getting impatient now; he needed to get to the wedding and every minute delay could cause him to miss the whole event. I'll try one more time he thought and knocked one final time. No answer. Sherlock was confused, Mrs Hudson was definitely in the house because Sherlock could hear her rummaging around inside and the faint buzz of the radio. In one final attempt to get her attention, Sherlock lifted up the letterbox flap and called out. "Mrs Hudson!" The house fell silent. "Mrs Hudson, it's me. Sherlock Holmes." The silence continued for what seemed like forever until finally Sherlock heard the distinct sound of Mrs Hudson's footsteps. The door creaked open slowly.

Mrs Hudson stared at Sherlock in disbelief. All the colour had drained from her cheeks. "Sherlock." She said, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. "We thought you were dead."

"I'm so sorry Mrs Hudson, it was for the best. For all of you."

"How was it for the best?!" All the colour had returned to her face now. Mrs Hudson was angry now, her body trembling with rage and her hands clenched. Sherlock had never seen her so angry. "I think you better come inside, you've got a lot of explaining to do to me and even more to John." As she said last bit all the anger left her, her countenance completely changed to that of a few seconds before. It had obviously been a very hard time for John. "Try and be quick, we've got a wedding to go to. I guess that's why you are here." She turned and went into her flat. Sherlock followed.

Inside the flat Sherlock and Mrs Hudson sat down in the small kitchen. As Mrs Hudson busied herself making tea, Sherlock told her everything that happened at St Bart's. Sherlock knew that now he had come out of hiding there was no use keeping it secret; it would be better that the public knew the truth instead of the falsities given to them by Moriarty.

Once Sherlock had finished his tale, Mrs Hudson sat in silence in awe of it all. Then, after a few minutes, she got up and hugged Sherlock. She had tears in her eyes as she whispered, "I'm just glad that you're safe." Sherlock embraced Mrs Hudson, glad that he could finally see her again, not in disguise.

"Oh, Sherlock, look at the time!" Sherlock turned to face the clock. It read 11:30. "We have to leave for the wedding soon. It starts in two hours and we don't want to be late. Why don't you just pop up to your flat, grab a nice suit and sort yourself out. You're a mess. Everything in your room should be just as you left it; John wouldn't touch a thing. Too many memories I think..." Mrs Hudson tailed off when she noticed the glum look on Sherlock's face. "Don't worry dear. You can speak to John before the wedding if you want to. Now you and I must get ready." And with that she left the room.

Sherlock walked up the familiar steps to 221b for the first time in over a year. The flat looked much the same apart from some items that could only belong to Miss Morstan. He continued on into the bedroom where he found everything completely untouched. The room was completely spotless. There was not an inch of dust to be seen anywhere. John had been cleaning the room meticulously every week in the attempt to keep Sherlock alive in his mind as much as possible and in the hope that he might one day return. A small tear rolled down Sherlock's cheek at the thought of John in the empty room by himself but was soon brushed away. 'Sentiment' said Sherlock 'is a chemical defect found on the losing side.' He smiled to himself of the memory of when he had said much the same thing before. He walked briskly towards the cupboard where he pulled out his smartest suit. He combed his hair quickly and then ran down to meet Mrs Hudson at the door.

"Ready?" she said.

"As much as I can be." he replied and they walked off to the taxi that was waiting for them outside."

On a completely different side of London, Jim Moriarty put down his mug of coffee. He picked up his phone and unlocked it, looking around him to check that nobody was looking. A message was there from Moran. Moriarty quickly de-coded the message. It read as follows:

"All is set for this evening. -M" Moriarty smiled, so far everything had gone off without a hitch. It was a simple enough crime and yet Moriarty couldn't help feeling slightly apprehensive. The public could not know about him surviving St Bart's and now that Sherlock was back in the public eye he would soon be solving crimes once more. 'Moran is on the job. We cannot fail.' Moriarty thought to himself. He locked his phone and finished his coffee. 'The life of the consulting criminal is a good one.'


End file.
